


You Bet Your Ass

by mightbeanasshole



Category: Breaking Bad
Genre: Bottom!Saul, Edging, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Restraints
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-11
Updated: 2016-03-11
Packaged: 2018-05-26 03:50:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6222544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mightbeanasshole/pseuds/mightbeanasshole
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Later, if you were to ask Jesse Pinkman what the best meal of his life had been, he’d tell you without hesitation that it was the 32 ounce bottle of Texas Tim’s Ancho BBQ sauce he drank in under two minutes out in front of the Fair N Square Food Store, resting on the hood of Saul’s horrible white Caddy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Bet Your Ass

**Author's Note:**

> In response to this anonymous prompt from tumblr:  
> "*sex robot voice* you should totally write a sauljesse thing where Jimmy loses some kind of bet then gets tied up and edged until he's begging for it"
> 
> I live to serve.

Later, if you were to ask Jesse Pinkman what the best meal of his life had been, he’d tell you without hesitation that it was the 32 ounce bottle of Texas Tim’s Ancho BBQ sauce he drank in under two minutes out in front of the Fair N Square Food Store, resting on the hood of Saul’s horrible white Caddy.

Yes, it had seared his esophagus raw on the way down _and_ \-- a few minutes later -- on the way back up into the sand on the side of the freeway.

Yes, he had burped up the taste of ancho and cumin for what felt like _eons_ afterwards.

Yes, it had utterly ruined Texas-style bbq sauce for the remainder of his ribs-loving life.

But he had won Saul’s stupid bet -- and won it spectacularly.

With a grin and nary a hiccup, Jesse had tossed the empty bottle to Saul, scrubbed a clean hand over his lips, and told the man to clear his schedule for Saturday.

\---

The loser of the bet got tied up. Those had been the terms.

Saul had sized up the situation as a win-win: a restrained Jesse at his disposal or an indulgent session of bottoming where he wasn’t asked to do a damned thing. Easiest bet of his whole life.

Well. You may not be able to bullshit a bullshitter, but apparently you _can_ con a conman. And as an attorney, Saul _really_ should have thought about being more explicit with those terms.

His fingertips are starting to go all pins-and-needles feeling from being above his head for so long. There’s no clock on the wall and no real way to chart the passage of time, but it feels like it’s been at least an hour since Jesse had marched them into Saul’s bedroom, ordered him to strip to his underwear through a smirk, and made quick work of securing Saul’s wrists comfortably to his own simple bedframe.

“Color system, alright?” Jesse had asked brusquely as he started to shed his own clothes.

Saul had frowned.

“You’re gonna make me safeword? With what?” he’d asked, teasing. “Where are the whips and chains? I think I left the spreader bar back at the office and Francesca never brought my ball gag back.”

“ _Saul_. Be real. Green, yellow, red. We good?”

“Never in a million years would I have pegged _you_ as a stickler for safewords,” Saul said. Jesse had stopped undressing and fixed him with a death glare. “Yes, ok, Christ, color system. Call me a traffic light -- just don’t stop taking off your clothes.”

Hindsight is 20/20. Saul gets it now. Jesse doesn’t need any sort of prop to push Saul to the edge of his sanity -- not when he has quick hands, a talented mouth, a perfect frame, all of that stupidly soft skin, and an in-depth knowledge of every physical cue that indicates Saul is close to orgasm.

\---

Sometimes Jesse’s mind wanders when he’s giving head. Not today. This is art, this is the performance of a lifetime, this is sweet revenge for every stupid joke Saul Goodman has ever made.

The first half hour had been leisurely: standard foreplay, third-base type shit, slow and even a little sweet. He hadn’t even taken Saul’s boxers off. But after the 30-minute mark, he drags the ugly garment off of Saul’s hips and the preface to the whole affair is over.

Jesse lies with his bare belly against the comforter between Saul’s thighs, holding his cock gently, appreciating the weight of him and the clear bead of precum that he’s going to taste in a moment -- and Saul groans into the air above him as if he can read Jesse’s mind. Jesse squeezes him by the base, in no hurry as he shifts a little further up the bed.

He starts with dry lips on skin, each kiss escalating imperceptibly as more layers of stimulation come into play -- pressure and noise and wetness. A silent kiss at the base of his balls, a quiet kiss against the skin of his inner thigh, a brushing kiss against his shaft. The room is silent except for them: Jesse’s mouth working and Saul breathing audibly.

Jesse wets his lips and starts again, following the same path with a measured pace.

And then a third round -- this time with an open mouth.

At the end of this rotation, his tongue comes into play and he’s sucking pink marks into Saul’s thighs and then watching them disappear. When it seems like maybe this is all he’s going to do -- just kiss and worry Saul’s skin -- Jesse flattens his tongue, holds Saul harder by the base, and paints a slow, broad stripe with his tongue that starts at the thin skin of Saul’s balls and only stops when Jesse has his first taste of precum.

Saul groans like he’s in pain and when Jesse looks up, propped on his elbows, Saul is watching him intently. Jesse basks in the moment, not afraid to ham it up under Saul’s gaze, moving the taste on his tongue to the front of his mouth and visibly savoring it before swallowing and wetting his lips again. Saul is flushed high on his cheeks, eyebrows knit over blue eyes that are fighting not to look desperate yet -- but the way his mouth is pressed into a thin line is a dead giveaway. Jesse is taking him apart and he’s only barely started.

(Of course the denial is mutual at this point -- and surveying Saul like this reminds Jesse of his own neglected hard-on, straining against the front of his boxer briefs. The hands-above-your-head surrender position looks good on Saul, emphasizing the width of his chest, the taper of a waist gone soft with age, and the flare of hips that are already fighting the urge to buck off the bed. Jesse smothers the impulse to drag himself up the mattress and kneel over Saul, opening himself up with fingers and lube and then riding relentlessly until they’re both out of breath and granted release. That’s their standard fare, after all -- but _this?_ He’d earned this with the godforsaken bottle of Texas Tim’s.)

Jesse returns to his task, spitting in his hand to slick him. At the first full stroke, Saul’s cock throbs against his palm, and Saul lets out a sigh that sounds half-relieved. Jesse twists slowly, appreciating every plane with his fingers, careful not to establish a rhythm. He continues to stroke him unevenly as he dips to kiss loud and wet against Saul’s inner thigh. Saul hums and stills, his breaths punctuated by rolling little moans that ebb and flow as Jesse moves, worrying the skin with his teeth in some places and lapping gently at others.

As his hand starts to go tacky, he moves back to Saul’s cock, stroking patterns against the shaft with his tongue until he’s slick again. He gives equal attention to every area but the head until he can tell that it’s becoming less interesting and then -- only then -- does he mouth softly over the tip, all soft, sliding lips.

Saul issues a soft, _“Oh my God_ ,” and the bed frame strains as he puts some pressure on his bindings.

Jesse does it again and again, taking him deeper with each stroke of his mouth until he’s willing the back of his throat to relax. Saul falls into a mantra of _fuck fuck fuck_ as Jesse’s crawling pace finally has him swallowing around Saul’s entire length, fighting the instinct to gag, and pressing the tip of his nose into the bottom of Saul’s belly as if to prove a point. As the man on the bottom’s hips roll, Jesse pulls off just as gradually as he’d sunk down until Saul is bouncing free, wet against his own skin.

“Sweet fucking Christ Jesse -- do that again,” he says, breathy.

“You’re not the boss of me,” Jesse says, fondly, holding him again by the base. Saul sighs hard.

“You’re a _real_ problem,” he says, shutting his eyes and hipping up softly into Jesse’s grip.

Jesse might be a sadist, but he’s not the goddamned devil, and mercifully he pumps the cock in his hand for a few strokes before lowering his face again to lap up and down Saul’s length, uneven and never establishing a predictable pattern.

Jesse pulls out all the stops: mouthing with flushed lips, dragging his tongue slowly, sucking and stroking in between long pauses just to make sure nothing feels too good for too long. Jesse appreciates the change in intensity and timbre of Saul's noises each time he pauses to roll and lick his balls.

As he works, Jesse closes his eyes and makes the most obscene, wet noises he can come up with -- because he knows Saul gets off as much on the sound and sight of Jesse swallowing down his cock as much as he does from the sensation. With his free hand, he reaches to touch and tease and pinch every inch of skin he can get access to, squeezing a hip hard, stroking up Saul’s belly to fumble and tease a nipple even as his mouth and other hand keep working.  

Finally his teasing begins in earnest, and he falls into the sort of pattern that could actually get someone off, sucking even strokes against the head while he twists in time with his hand. Saul responds immediately, moaning softly with his movements.

It’s like watching seconds tick off on a wall clock, except Jesse doesn’t have to count the steady, licking strokes -- he knows exactly when to pull off, letting his grip go slack and his mouth go soft, trailing a teasing pattern as he takes his lips and tongue away completely. Saul sighs hard, frustrated but not wanting Jesse to know, maybe.

Jesse lets several beats pass, lets Saul’s building orgasm become a fading memory as Saul groans and he catches his breath. Then he starts again: firm grip, bobbing head, swirling tongue. Saul throbs at the first real stroke, and his hips move almost imperceptibly along with Jesse’s movements now. Jesse pulls off again after a moment, brushing wet lips against sensitive skin, and Saul lets loose a moan that tapers into a whimper.

Jesse keeps up the game of stop and go until Saul’s hips are rocking up to encourage him, until he’s leaning hard against the restraints at his wrists and moving against the hand Jesse is using to keep his hips from moving freely. Jesse pulls back to pause -- but when he swallows against Saul this next time, he hums and drops both of his hands, encouraging Saul to move.

\---

It takes him a moment to catch on, but as soon as he understands, Saul takes full advantage, pressing hard up off the bed and fucking Jesse’s throat, letting loose a gravelly groan of relief at finally being granted the chance to take what he wants from Jesse’s mouth. It’s loud and sloppy and Jesse takes every stroke without hesitation, letting Saul bury himself to the hilt. Saul goes at it helplessly -- couldn’t stop now if he wanted to, Jesse’s sounds spurring him on, the sight of his cock disappearing into that perfect mouth mesmerizing him.

He wants nothing more in this moment than to bury his fists in Jesse’s messy hair, to pull him down even further onto his cock, to cum so deep down his throat the kid wouldn’t even be able to taste it. The orgasm he’s been denied has rapidly built again into a throb that seems to span most of Saul’s body below the waist -- and relief is in sight because Jesse doesn’t seem in any hurry to pull off this time. He’s _finally_ being granted mercy here.

Saul’s swinging for the fences now, testing the integrity of the bedframe, astounded that Jesse doesn’t even seem to be in discomfort other than the awkward cadence of his breathing as Saul strokes in -- but then Jesse gags loud and Saul can _feel_ the muscles constrict around him and he issues a broken groan, the inevitable orgasm sputtering and slowing down at the realization that he might’ve hurt the kid. Jesse’s hands fly to Saul’s hips, pushing him back down to the bed -- but to Saul’s great astonishment, even as he presses Saul down, Jesse _follows_ his hips, gagging and choking on Saul’s cock but still taking him as deep as he can, sinking and burying him more even as his hips are flush with the mattress, before finally pulling off with an obscene, wet noise.

It’s like missing the last step on a flight of stairs. It’s worse than being denied an orgasm -- it’s like a goddamned _anti-orgasm_ and he’s pulsing at the sudden lack. There’s a strange sound in the room and it takes a moment to register the fact that _Saul_ is the one making it: high and desperate as a breath escapes pathetically from his lungs.

Jesse just drinks it in, holding Saul’s hips and catching his breath, smiling and a little ragged as he moves to his knees on the bed to observe the damage he’s wrought.

“ _Jesus_ Christ, Jesse.” If his hands weren’t out of play, Saul wouldn’t even be trying to touch Jesse -- he’d be dragging them down his face in frustration.

Wait -- strike that. He’d be strangling Jesse.

“How you doin’ champ?” Jesse’s voice is raspy and raw, and Saul squeezes his eyes shut because he can’t deal with the helpless way his hard-on bobs at the noise.

“Horrible. Terrible. Don’t patronize me,” he says. “You’re a menace.”

“Yo,” Jesse says, sounding annoyed and snapping his fingers. “Did I say to shut your eyes?”

Saul opens his eyes and rolls them.

“I need permission to blink now?”

“Maybe!” Jesse says, fanning out a hand.

It’s awful, Saul thinks, to be teased by someone who knows _exactly_ the kind of power they have over you. Because Christ: the kid is beautiful even on his worst days, and just a surreal, over-the-top wet dream when he’s been physically worked up by sucking cock.

Jesse’s mouth is flushed as he sits on his heels and beams down at Saul, and the sheen of sweat on his forehead and spit on his chin is doing _nothing_ to give Saul any sort of relief. It’s torture to rake his eyes over Jesse’s body and be denied touch. And he knows just where he’d start: a palm against the visible outline of Jesse’s cock, pressing against those awful, threadbare boxer briefs that leave nothing to the imagination.

Jesse’s jaw goes slack as he thinks, letting a tattooed hand trail over Saul’s stomach as he contemplates -- Saul assumes -- his next torture method.

Jesse is still smug and smiling when a thought occurs to him and he moves up the bed, hands reaching for Saul’s wrists. For a fleeting moment, Saul thinks that maybe he’s paid his penance and Jesse is going to untie him now -- but all Jesse does is undo the part of the restraint anchoring him to the bed frame, leaving his wrists bound together.

Saul pulls his bound hands down in front of his chest, rolling his shoulders and enjoying the small modicum of relief in his arms and shoulders that feels wonderful but does absolutely _nothing_ to make up for the fact that he’s uncomfortably hard. Saul’s muscles feel strange and shaky and he grumbles as the blood starts flowing normally to his fingers. He reaches for Jesse, but he just slaps Saul’s hands away softly.

“You still don’t get to use those,” Jesse says, sneering. “Don’t get it fucked up. No hands.”

Saul smirks and reaches out again, hooking a fingertip into the band of Jesse’s briefs.

“I’ll make it worth your while,” Saul offers -- and God would he. If Jesse would untie him, Saul would give the kid the ride of his goddamn lifetime. Jesse just grabs him by the wrist and holds it.

“Hey -- you wanna start all this over tomorrow?” Jesse threatens. “Bet’s a bet, dude. The barbeque bet is sacred.”

“Then why’d you let me free?”

The faux-anger is gone and a dangerous smile plays across Jesse’s face like oil on the surface of water.

“‘Cause I need you to turn over.”

The combination of the words and the look Jesse shoots him has Saul’s breath catching, and he complies, throwing his weight to roll onto elbows and knees. His joints pop as he rests his weight down onto the new position.

“You still good?” Jesse asks, placing a steadying hand on the base of Saul’s spine. Saul lets out a bitter laugh.

“I’m terrible and you know it -- no, amend that: _you’re_ terrible and I hate myself.”

Jesse sighs and Saul can picture the exact frown on his face.

“Colors, Saul.”

“Roy G Biv,” Saul says. “I’m familiar.”

“Goddamn it Saul --”

“Green, ok?” Saul says, angry that the only place he’s currently being touched is his lower back. “ _Green_. Jesus.”

“Was that so hard?”

“You’re an _ass_ , you know that?” Saul says. Jesse clicks his tongue and drags the hand away from his spine.

“You’re one to talk,” Jesse says, smug, grabbing Saul’s ass firmly with both hands.

“I’m too hard for you to be making puns.”

“Was that… was that even a pun, though?”

Saul’s working on a rejoinder when he feels a hand in the middle of his shoulder blades, pushing him firmly down until he’s resting with his chest against the mattress, hands under his torso, and his face at a weird angle. He shudders a little -- Jesse is rarely rough with him, but the kid is well aware of what it _does_ to Saul to be handled like this. Jesse lets his weight rest against Saul’s back, holding him there for a beat just to make a point as Saul sucks a shuddering breath and his cock bobs against thin air.

Apparently Jesse is done sniping for now, because his weight moves behind Saul on the mattress. This adds another interesting layer -- not being able to see what Jesse is moving to do -- and he waits, feeling exposed. There are hands on his hips after a moment to keep him still and steady, then a knee against his thighs. Jesse spreads Saul’s knees apart with his own leg and Saul hums into the mattress.

When he’s done enjoying Saul’s hitched breath at the roughness, Jesse stoops to kiss the skin at the small of Saul’s back, both dimples on the backs of his hips, the cleft of his ass. Saul hums, anticipating where this is going, ready to be teased again at least, if not satisfied.

Jesse’s hands join his lips in stroking over every plain of Saul’s ass, the kisses slowly becoming wetter and hotter, the hands beginning to squeeze and knead. For a moment, it seems to dissolve into a massage -- but then Jesse changes the pace with that vertigo-inducing intensity he’s been exhibiting this whole time, spreading Saul before he drags a long lick against his ass, starting with the base of his tongue at the thin skin behind his balls and only ending when the tip of his tongue has reached the base of Saul’s spine.

Saul can’t control the sound he makes at the sudden stimulation, the high and desperate whine that comes out of him. Jesse hums but doesn’t laugh this time, simply dips to repeat the process, steadying Saul by the hips as he lays wet strokes against his hole.

Saul loses track of time and space again, nothing quite as real as the long licks and his cock bobbing against nothing. The pleasure is astounding, and he doesn’t know if it’s because Jesse’s upped his rimming game or if his nerves have gone completely haywire over the teasing -- but he could cum just from this if Jesse would have the compassion to give a few short strokes to his hard-on now.

But of course, just as Saul begins to settle into the rhythm and think that he can anticipate the next stroke, Jesse changes what he’s doing, the tongue against Saul going softer and pliant, drawing shapes against his ass.  

Saul whines against the comforter in spite of himself and pushes back against Jesse’s face. The kid responds by sliding a hand up his spine to his shoulder blades and pushing Saul firmly back down into the mattress. Saul gives in, letting it happen, twisting his hands against each other as Jesse continues to tease him. His legs are almost uncomfortably sprawled, spreading him and making him more exposed -- but the hot tongue against him feels too good for him to care.

The whole entire world might as well be balanced on the tip of Jesse Pinkman’s tongue as he continues to spread and lap, strong licks alternated with soft strokes, and Saul’s cock is _aching_. He’s completely strung out between the need for contact with his cock and the desire for Jesse to _never_ stop worshipping his ass. Plus, another sensation seems to be joining the fray: the growing desire to be filled and fucked -- because the tongue is great but it’s not nearly enough.

Saul stops keeping track of the noises he’s making -- lets the whining pour out of himself unchecked as he goes boneless, supported by his chest against the bed and Jesse’s grip. As if reading his mind, the tongue at his ass begins to dip into him, and the whine breaks to an open moan.

Jesse hums against him in response to the new noise before pushing into him again, firmer, deeper. Saul moves again, helplessly needing more and rutting back against Jesse’s grip, against his mouth.

Jesse doesn’t bother pushing him down this time, instead building a rhythm that matches Saul’s straining hips, his broken moans. With a swell of strange panic, Saul thinks that he might not be able to _keep_ himself from cumming this way -- that Jesse is going to drag it out of him without even the most cursory of strokes against his neglected cock, a half-ruined orgasm, untouched and fucking himself on Jesse’s face.

But just as he teeters at the edge, Jesse pulls away, leaving him empty.

Saul can’t bite down a whimper and Jesse’s weight shifts behind him on the bed, a warm hand coming to rest in the middle of his shoulders. He cranes his neck to peer up at Jesse, who is smiling fondly down at him, far too pleased with himself for Saul’s tastes.

“Do you want me to fuck you?” Jesse asks casually, as if he hadn’t just spent what felt like four goddamned hours playing around at the brink of Saul’s orgasm.

Saul doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry at the question because _of fucking course_.

“Yeah, yes, Christ, I --”

“Beg for it,” Jesse says, tone steeley and only warped a little bit by the smile on his face.

“ _Please_ ,” Saul says, wasting no time.

Some dormant part of his brain cries out that _Saul Goodman makes deals -- he doesn’t **beg**_ \-- but it’s met with a resounding “shut the fuck up” by the 99% of him that’s ready to cum.

“Please, Jesse, I need you to --”

Jesse hips him forward a little so that Saul can’t see him anymore. There is the unmistakable click of a bottle of lube snapping open -- and Saul can’t help but be a little impressed at this sleight of hand, because he hadn’t noticed the kid retrieving any -- and then the pressure of a slicked finger against his ass.

“Oh _God_ , please --”

It’s all Saul can do not to press back against the hand immediately, but Jesse has his other hand low on Saul’s back, keeping him still. He doesn’t make him wait long, though, sinking the finger easily into him. To say that Saul’s ready for it is the understatement of the year -- he’s ready for more than this already. But Jesse holds him steady and strokes into him until he’s built a good rhythm, moving his hips softly in time as he finger-fucks him.

Jesse finally lets up and stops holding him still, and Saul rocks his hips back to meet Jesse’s hand.

“Come on,” he begs softly. “I’m ready.”

Jesse withdraws his hand but responds finally with more lube and a second finger. Saul hums at that, finally _maybe_ approaching the satisfaction of being filled -- if only by fingers. Jesse builds a slow rhythm again, fucking him open with two fingers until there’s less resistance -- and Saul’s breath snags in his chest when a third finger presses into him.

“We chill?” Jesse asks, stopping.

“Yes, Christ, the chillest,” Saul says, snarling a little at the slow in progress. “For the love of God, don’t stop.” His body is already responding to the pressure, relaxing around Jesse’s fingers. As he finger- fucks Saul, Jesse lays his body across Saul’s back and the warmth is reassuring as he speaks low into Saul’s ear.

“Do you want me?”

Saul groans -- he wants Jesse more than he thought possible, feels like the world might split open and swallow him if the man doesn’t fuck him soon.

“ _Want you_ doesn’t begin to cover it, kid.”

“Say it,” Jesse commands. He’s not exactly the most intimidating figure, but Saul can’t help the soft “fuck” that slips past his lips at the instruction.

“I want you,” Saul says, breathless and straining back against Jesse’s hand, resisting the urge to keep whining, in some state of arousal so beyond hardness, beyond blue balls that it ought to have its own new word. He needs pressure deeper -- needs Jesse to quit fucking around and fill him. “I want you to fuck me. Please, Christ, Jesse?”

The hand and the weight across his back disappears and Saul does whine then, unprepared for the sudden emptiness. Saul hears the rustle of clothing and realizes that Jesse doesn’t even have his underwear off yet. His weight shifts, the garment falls to the floor, and Jesse is behind him again. With a dry hand, Jesse reaches around to stroke him softly -- but the stimulation isn’t enough now. Jesse had won the bet and now he’s won the war and Saul is going to be even more of a sad, broken man if Jesse doesn’t take pity on him soon and fuck him properly.

“It need it -- please,” Saul says, realizing how broken his voice sounds and not caring, listening to the way it wavers and hitches as Jesse strokes his cock. “Christ -- not just -- I want you _in_ me, I need you to fuck me.”

In the grand scheme of dirty talk, Saul is capable of so much more than this ragged begging -- but it does the trick because Jesse ruts hard against his ass and groans -- and _finally_ someone in this situation is ready for some action other than Saul. He’d thank his lucky stars right now if Jesse goddamned Pinkman hadn’t reduced him to nothing more than a bunch of helpless sexual synapses.

\---

Jesse has always found Saul’s voice compelling. It’s one of the weird things he’ll find himself thinking about: the way his voice can be a dead-on imitation of a sleazy game show host in his commercials or a hard-edged don’t-fuck-with-me sound when he’s posturing or a fond, understated almost-whisper when he’s not trying to be anything but himself.

Spending more time with Saul means that he’s been granted access to even more variations: the gravelly way Saul sounds when he wakes up in the morning, the way his voice goes choppy after he’s laughed too hard, and the saccharine way he talks to old ladies.

But the sounds he’s been dragging out of Saul today are _by far_ the most interesting versions of Saul’s voice that Jesse has come across. It’s all rasp and bass as Saul begs on hands and knees to be fucked and it makes Jesse think of creosote and asphalt and the desert. Saul -- who always has a plan B, who thinks on his feet faster than anyone Jesse has ever met -- is now reduced to whimpers and whines and this, Jesse thinks, is what made that disgusting bottle of Texas goddamn Tim’s go down as smooth as iced tea.

He’s hard as a diamond as he slicks up and positions himself behind Saul. Saul goes quiet in the moment of anticipation. Jesse takes him by the hips, trying to haul him up higher for a better angle but not strong enough to move him around. Even as he breathes out a low sound at the handling, Saul repositions himself under Jesse’s hands, hitching his hips and propping himself higher on his elbows. He holds Saul steady with one hand and lines himself up with the other.

As nice as it might be to fuck face to face, it’s hard to top the view from behind as Jesse sinks in, fighting Saul as he tries to grind back too fast. No way in hell is he rushing this part.

It’s Jesse’s turn to whine now as he watches his cock disappear into Saul. He’s all tight, slick warmth and eagerness -- and he feels incredible like this, little manic movements as he takes Jesse, as he lets out a shuddering sigh at finally being filled. Jesse presses in until his hips are fitted against Saul’s ass -- and then he lets him move a bit, still controlling his hips but indulging in the feeling of the larger man grinding back against him, desperate for more movement even as he’s still adjusting.

That first sweet stroke is as slow as either of them can take it but Jesse doesn’t worry about setting a torturous pace after that -- not now that his own cock is involved. Instead, he barely guides Saul’s hips and lets him move, lets him work back to meet every thrust. It only takes a few beats before Saul is moaning and fucking back against him like it’s their last day on earth: deeply, thoroughly, not letting a single millimeter of Jesse’s cock go unstroked as he works back against him. His noises are raw and sound almost pained, but Jesse’s not stupid enough to try and check in now because they’re both too far gone.

\---

Saul has never needed to cum so badly in his entire goddamned life.

Not during long stretches of abstinence. Not during the painful and embarrassing arousals of high school. Never has Saul felt quite like this: so goddamned hard and needy that he feels like he’s discovering sex for the first time in his life.

He takes Jesse deep without a second thought of the discomfort through the first few hard strokes. Discomfort is a road sign disappearing behind him as he speeds towards orgasm. He hitches and rocks his hips with a flexibility and rhythm he didn’t think himself capable of anymore -- but, hey, if there’s one lesson Saul has learned throughout his life, it’s that desperation leads to a _lot_ of self-discovery.

The burn of need that Jesse has stoked through this whole terrible, wonderful session is blazing in the base of his stomach like a forge, intensifying with each stroke, even without any stimulation against his cock -- and he has no idea what Jesse has planned for his eventual orgasm, but this is the first bit of real satisfaction he’s felt since the bindings went around his wrists and he’s not about to do anything but live in this one single moment as Jesse takes him hard by the hips again and lays into him with more force. The kid’s huffing with exertion but it’s only barely audible above the noise of their fucking, the creak of the abused bed frame.

The rhythm and pressure is exactly what he needed, Jesse hitting just the right spots, going at it with the youthful exuberance Saul has come to expect from him. He’s not holding back -- and thank _Christ_ because Saul worries that if he’d been forced to wait any longer, he’d expire right here on top of his ugly sale-rack comforter. His hard-on is still neglected but half forgotten at the pleasure of being fucked, but wouldn’t even resent an orgasm from this thorough fucking alone. And God, who knew the kid had it in him?

“You ready to cum?” Jesse asks, his voice breathy and punctuated by his quickening strokes into Saul.

“ _Naaah_ ,” Saul says, apparently completely unable to resist sarcasm even in these trying times. Jesse snorts in between breaths.

“Don’t be a bitch,” he snipes.

“Yes, Jesse, Christ, I’m gonna do it on my own if you don’t --”

But Jesse is already leaning over him, slowing a little to rock his entire length in and out in the way that he knows drives Saul a hundred kinds of crazy. And then there’s a hand on him -- mercifully, finally, taking Saul’s somehow over- and under-stimulated cock in a firm, twisting grip -- and his nerves are haywire, absolutely shot to shit from the first good pull. He’s torn in two between wanting to push back against Jesse and fuck forward into his hand -- but in the end he doesn’t have to choose because Jesse has the entire situation covered, stroking him perfectly in time.

There’s an odd moment of disconnect, then, because Saul had assumed he was on the precipice of orgasm, that it would be one nice stroke before he’d be cumming hard over Jesse’s hand -- but the opposite is true. It’s like his wires are truly so scrambled that the information isn’t getting to the right place, and instead of cumming he’s whimpering and fighting the feeling of post-orgasm over-stimulation without ever having had the relief in the first place. Jesse isn’t discouraged in the least by the delay, though, still twisting his slicked hand and laying those long strokes of his cock where he’s precariously close to pulling out before pressing back, impossibly deep. Even under the kid’s slight weight, Saul’s muscles are trembling and shot.

Jesse’s sounds are louder now, closer to his ears. He makes desperate, small moans as he works Saul, and his lips find the skin in between his shoulderblades, kissing him sloppy and maybe even a little sweet. It’s the same place he likes to kiss Jesse -- just above the tattoo -- when the roles are reversed, and it feels so good that Saul shudders a little and sucks a breath.

It knocks something loose inside Saul, finally, and his insides feel like a pinball machine. The pleasure of an orgasm like Saul has never known begins the process of unfurling itself into his cells, his muscles, his skin. It’s a release beyond release, the sensation seizing him from top to bottom, burning a brand of stimulation from the inside of his body outwards.

“Holy shit,” he says, almost awed.

“Fuck yes,” Jesse says. “Just like that -- fuck, Saul.”

Time stretches out in front of him, the edges of Saul’s world going dark and far away, and he’s not even remotely aware of when his orgasm begins or cognisant of the fact that it will ever end.

He knows very little beyond the immediately reality of Jesse’s cock and his hand and his weight across Saul’s back, feels like he’s not controlling his body anymore as electricity fires between his muscle fibers in a way that doesn’t make sense, as if his perception of pleasure -- so heightened for so long -- is now distorting and amplifying even further -- his entire existence reduced to the deep contentment that settles into his chest as he takes shaky breaths and the nerves of his body are shattered into bliss. He’s only tangentially aware of the sound he’s making, strangled and choked against the mattress.   

It is undeniably the most incredible orgasm of Saul’s entire life.

When he comes back to himself like an amnesiac trying to piece his identity together, Jesse is still resting weight against his back but he’s gone still.

“You don’t have to stop,” Saul says, his voice sounding small. A laugh rolls though Jesse and Saul can feel it through his back.

“I came, dude.”

They breathe there for a second, and gradually Saul is reminded that he’s made up of more than cock and brain stem because his knees and elbows are starting to complain. He shifts and Jesse takes the hint, sitting back, tracing a palm down Saul’s spine as he pulls out. Saul rolls to his side away from the ruined comforter and falls heavily against the bed to face Jesse. Jesse snorts and moves to untie his wrists, finally.

“You good?” he asks, looking smug and raising an eyebrow. Saul rubs his wrists and fixes Jesse with a serious look.

“I saw God.”

“My cock _should_ be a religion,” Jesse says, nodding seriously.

“A-fucking-men.”

Jesse disappears and Saul hears water running. He comes back with a wet washcloth, which he lobs at Saul’s chest before snagging his pack of cigarettes off the corner of the bedside table. So much for pillow talk.

“Hell of a bedside manner you got there, Mr. Safeword,” Saul says as Jesse sits on the edge of the bed and lights up. Saul drags the washcloth over himself -- and at least he’d taken the time to run warm water. “You ever heard of aftercare?”

“Yeah yeah,” Jesse says, sneering. “I was the one who did all the work. Where’s _my_ aftercare?”

Saul tosses the washcloth, rolls his wrists, and drags Jesse, squirming, until they’re skin to skin. Jesse will cuddle with him and he’ll _like_ it, so help him God. Jesse laughs fondly and stops putting up a fight, letting out a plume of smoke and ashing into a glass of water before passing Saul the cigarette. He takes a drag and strokes a hand over Jesse’s hip, appreciating being able to do whatever he wants with his hands again. They’re beaming at each other, despite their sniping and while Saul tries to bite down a smile, Jesse just shakes his head and grins.

“Yeah, I’m sure all that _work_ really put you out,” Saul says. “You seemed pissed when you were fucking the daylights out of me.”

“You were into it.”

“I didn’t say I wasn’t, but I’m still gonna be walking funny on Monday,” he says. Saul passes the cigarette back. “Remind me not to bet you _anything_. Ever.”

“Don’t be like that,” Jesse says. “Just… next time, maybe don’t literally bet your ass.”

 

 


End file.
